Master of Crows Read Online Free PDF Page A

harvest season.  “I grow tired of this wheel,” he murmured.
    The star glimmered.  Silhara raised his goblet to the god’s celestial face in a mocking toast.  “To Silhara, master of nothing.”
     
     
     
     

CHAPTER FOUR

     
    Great stinking heaps of refuse surrounded Martise.  The rancid odor flooded her nostrils on steaming puffs of air and buffeted her face until she gagged.  The smell and the heat beat against her head and shoulders, followed by a cool dampness that nudged her neck.  The touch startled her out of a restless sleep.  She rolled over and opened her eyes to find a face covered in bristling gray fur and gagged scars filling her vision.  Cael, Silhara's mage-finder hound, touched a wet black nose to hers and sniffed.
     “Bursin’s wings.”  She scooted back and pulled the covers over her head.  “Cael, you smell like the dead.  Have you been rolling in the pig sty again?”
    The dog whined and shoved his nose into the blankets.  Martise scrambled out of the bed, anxious to put some distance between her and his repulsive smell.  He padded after her when she hurried to her window and opened the shutters.
    Pale morning light embroidered the window’s edge and cast the last pre-dawn shadows in sharp relief.  The crows sleeping in the orange grove fluttered to life, rocking the drooping branches as they hopped from perch to perch and fought for space in the coveted treetops.
    Cael joined her.  He stood on his hind legs, resting massive paws on the window ledge.  Martise stared at him with trepidation as he towered over her.  The mage-finder was a massive animal, bigger than any of the males in the pack she’d seen at Conclave.  White-muzzled and past his prime, he was still formidable.  She’d watched him hunt on Neith land, easily running the fastest prey to ground with a long, loping stride.  His kills were swift, efficient and left Martise rubbing the chills off her arms hours later.  Once, long ago, mage-finders had hunted and killed the Gifted in the same fashion.
    Her first introduction to the mage hound two weeks earlier had scared ten years off her lifespan.  Standing in Gurn’s comfortable kitchen her first morning at Neith, she’d stood frozen while Cael slowly circled her.  As big as a pony, but with the feline grace of a cat, he’d slinked into the kitchen and made directly for her, black claws tapping on the stone floor.  His dark eyes, gone crimson the second he saw her, watched her every move.  The gray fur along his curved back rose in a spiny arch; his whip-like tail smacked a warning tattoo against Gurn’s work table.
    Martise pleaded silently for Gurn to pull the mage-finder back.  He signed an apology and clapped his hands in command.  Cael reluctantly followed the servant to the door leading to the inner bailey, but not without looking back at her several times with those brilliant red eyes.
    When Gurn returned, Martise was leaning against the table for support.  “You have a mage-finder,” she said in a weak voice.  He nodded.  She took a deep breath and straightened, feeling the first stirrings of anger.  “He’s the ‘denizen’ your master spoke of.”  Gurn inclined his head once more.
    Heartless bastard.  She echoed Cael, growling under her breath.  She didn’t expect Silhara to believe Cumbria’s assurances.  The animosity between the two men was too great.  But, there were many, less extreme ways to verify she was one of the Gifted.  Ways that didn’t involve a deadly mage-finder sniffing her skirts.
    She schooled her expression into a placid mask.  “Will he be satisfied now?”
    Gurn shrugged, his eyes frosty.  Martise sensed his disapproval wasn’t directed at her.  He motioned for her to sit and served her breakfast.
    She'd quickly settled into a new routine since then.  Cael, despite his initial wariness, accepted her.  He was still curious and followed her about the manor as she performed the numerous chores